| abstract
| - The small starship lurked just behind the terminator line of Iridonia's smaller moon, its systems powered down to the absolute minimum required to sustain its two human occupants. The pilot, a native of the recently-bombarded world of Telos IV, maintained a grim vigil at the helm, while his passenger, ensconced in the seat behind him, sat so still that she appeared, at first glance, to be dead. It wouldn't have been the first time. The woman, her face slack as she sat, cross-legged and unbuckled, meditated, extending her awareness as far as it would go. She felt her way steadily outward toward first the moon above which the scout vessel hovered, then the planet that the natural satellite orbited. Subtle auras, diminished by sheer distance, marked out large population centers; those were to be avoided if at all possible. Her abilities were not strong nor finely-tuned enough to allow her to pick out anything more specific than the combined signatures of a hundred or more sentient beings; despite this, she could still spot that many folks when they lurked where they shouldn't be. For hours, she felt her way across the planet, though the task was made easier by having spent time beforehand eliminating vast swaths of its surface, areas that were too volatile for anyone or anything to exist upon for any length of time. Finally, after a full sixteen Standard hours of pushing herself to her absolute limit, Laera Reyolé was completely exhausted. “Ready to call it a day, ma'am?” Carth Onasi, the pilot, asked as the Marine captain brought herself back to the realm of 'ordinary' consciousness. “You bet,” Laera replied wearily. “Thanks,” she added, after the commander passed her a mug of caf, which she drained in one. “Any luck finding what we're looking for?” Onasi asked, a hopeful note to his voice. “Not yet.” Laera frowned, looked about the scout ship's tiny interior, then back through the viewport at the world below. The pilot had swiveled his couch around to face her as he sat with his own beverage, his visage still grim. “Don't look at me like that, Carth,” she admonished. “We'll find something soon. I've already got a few likely spots outlined.” “My apologies,” Carth said, turning in his seat slightly. “We've been out here for a full two days; frankly, I'm surprised the Sith haven't spotted us by now.” “Don't worry,” Laera soothed. “As long as you've kept to the course I plotted, they'll never know we were here. Trust in the Force, my friend.” Carth finally managed to crack the ghost of a smile at that remark. He knew that the officer next to him had once held a deep disregard for the essence of the universe, particularly for those who used it, but he also knew that she had recently undergone a year of extensive Jedi training. For her part, Laera still felt for the pilot, who had lost his family in the Sith assault on his homeworld some ten days prior to the start of their current mission. The last several months had been brutal, real nightmare stuff, packed with the kind of events that almost made one think that the Republic had finally had enough. In battle after battle, the forces of Darth Revan and Darth Malak had sliced their way into the very edges of the Inner Rim, carving out an empire with the precision of a Ho'Din master neurosurgeon. The utter devastation of Telos, ordered by the latter Sith Lord and carried out by Carth's former mentor, Admiral Saul Karath, had brought the conflict to a personal level that bordered on a fanatical vendetta. Despite all the emotional pain Laera knew that, even now, must be eating at him like a cancer, the veteran pilot and soldier did his duty to the best of his ability. As his smile died, Laera rose from her own seat, beckoning Carth to follow her through the cockpit hatch to the tiny compartment beyond. This area, which housed a combination sensor suite, tactical plotter, encrypted hypercomm transceiver, and dedicated analysis computer, also contained a pair of fold-down sleeping racks that would have been uncomfortable for a Chadra-Fan. Still, it was the best they had, so they made the most of it. Eight Standard hours later, the two officers were back at it. While Carth kept the ship hidden, Laera continued to scan the planet via means which were well beyond the capabilities of the technological marvel housed in the main cabin. After another seven hours of concentration, she had a vector. Fifteen minutes of dedicated work by passive and semi-active scanners, which were “flashed” intermittently so as not to arouse detection and triangulation, followed up by several hours of number-crunching by the computers, they had their target. Still undetected, the two-man scout vessel slipped into hyperspace, popping out a scant three light-years away to rendezvous with the four-ship flotilla from which it had staged. — — — In the officers' briefing room aboard Stalwart Defender, one of the last Centurion-class battlecruisers remaining in Republic service, the commanders and executive officers of Aurek, Besh, Cresh, and Dorn Companies, along with the leaders and seconds of their constituent platoons, were gathered. Clad in their battle-dress uniforms since this was not a formal occasion, they talked to one another, mostly sharing friendly comments as they anticipated the appearance of the commanding officer of the Third Battalion, Republic Marines. The younger officers, ensigns and junior lieutenants mostly, were fairly new to the outfit, and were still in the process of getting to know one another beyond the brief period of remedial training that the unit had gone through back on Coruscant. The senior officers, veterans of the previous conflict with the Mandalorians, mostly sat in silence, a few exchanging comments about their new leader. After several minutes of idle chatter, the door hissed open and she strode in. They knew who she was, of course, but clad in her dress reds lavishly decorated in unit citations, commendations, and campaign ribbons, her sidearm in its polished black holster, and the shining metal hilt of her lightsaber attached to her belt's other side, she still cut a dashing figure for those fresh from the Marine Corps Academy. The myriad conversations ended abruptly as the officers present immediately stood at attention, while she strode into the room and cast the gathered men and women a silently appraising look. “At ease, people,” Captain Laera Reyolé finally ordered, pausing so that everyone could return to their seats. “I hope you've been enjoying the cruise so far, because things are about to get interesting.” A couple of officers from the second row exchanged glances at this. “Throughout the galaxy, things are looking grim; one doesn't need the Force to see that. However, it is my sincere hope that soon, we can do something to affect the current situation in a positive way. Map, please.” The lights of the room winked out, and along the wall behind the battalion commander, a holographic starfield appeared. It showed the southwest quadrant of the galaxy, from the fringes of the Outer Rim through to the Core Worlds, its focus on the current zones of contention. Stars whose systems were firmly in Republic hands glowed red, while those thought to be in danger glowed yellow-orange; still others blazed blue, which indicated that they were now under Sith occupation. The map did not distinguish whether or not these worlds had been conquered or had abandoned the Republic voluntarily, but that didn't matter at the moment. “Republic Intelligence has identified a few possible points for counterattack,” Laera said as she turned toward the star map. “Unfortunately, due to the losses incurred at Foerost, the Navy still doesn't have the resources to carry out even a minor offensive. To be frank, they're barely holding the line as it is, so it's up to the Marine Corps to make these traitors bleed. Fortunately, I happen to have a target in mind.” With a gesture from the captain, the stars winked out, to be replaced with a map of a star system tagged as being located within the Mid Rim's Glythe sector. Additional notations indicated the presence of nearby hyperlanes which stretched from there out to the Outer and Inner Rims of the galaxy. “Iridonia,” Laera explained. “The Zabrak homeworld was a major point of contention during the last war, as most of us know. Now, Intelligence suspects that the population has voluntarily welcomed the Sith forces of Darths Revan and Malak after the recent battle there, and may be vulnerable to a hit-and-fade attack. I propose that we go one better; I say we hit this world, go groundside and make off with all the supplies we can carry, then blow their base as we leave. The Force willing, we'll be in and out before reinforcements arrive. Questions?” A man in the front row raised a hand. Taller than Laera, his skin tones darker and his features heavier than her own, but with similar colored hair and eyes, his lanky form belied his incredible physical power. She had personally witnessed the man, now a commander and leader of her old company, decapitate a Mandalorian warrior in full assault armor. Laera smiled as she acknowledged him. “Mr. Bimm, how nice to see you again.” “Likewise, ma'am,” the officer acknowledged jovially. “If I may say, that's a nice-looking toy you've got there.” “That's not exactly a question,” Laera replied, repressing a smile; nevertheless, there was a wave of muted chuckling. “But then, you were always stirring up trouble with the Mandos, no reason to think you'd stop with us.” “Aye-aye, ma'am,” Thedus Bimm replied with a smirk. “I wanted to make sure, however, that we know what we're getting into before we hit the Sith.” Laera's good cheer faded, and she was all business once more. “It is being attended to,” she replied. “Within the next few days, we will have a full operations brief, complete with optimal and backup entry and exit vectors, scatter-plots, and primary, secondary, and tertiary landing zones, in addition to estimates of enemy strength. Until we have that brief, I want you all to run your units through CQC and quick-hump training until their limbs are falling off.” Close-quarters combat training, as everyone knew, could be fun but exhausting. Quick-hump training, on the other hand—which consisted of practicing the rapid entry and exit from Jarhead-class assault landers—was usually just exhausting. Ideally, the platoon and company commanders would be mixing up the timing of these sessions so as not to tire their troopers out unnecessarily. A hard-bitten woman four seats over from Bimm raised a hand. Her pale face was puckered with a series of small scars, where shrapnel from a room-buster had pierced her helmet during the battle at Jaga's Cluster some eighteen months prior, She wore her sandy hair tied back in a tight bun, and her brown eyes seemed to burn like hot coals, which was understandable given the hell she had escaped from in that engagement's aftermath. “Ms. Nessai,” Laera acknowledged the leader of Dorn Company. She didn't know the woman all that well, they had seldom seen each other outside of battle even before her death. As she had gotten back into the service after returning to Coruscant in the wake of the Sith declaration of war, she had learned that the Corellian had earned Bloodstripes for having saved her ship, the Interdictor-class cruiser Battleaxe, from capture by the Mandalorians during the massacre. The woman had missed out on Malachor V, as she and the rest of her crew were laid up at Corellia as their cruiser had undergone repairs. At the start of the new conflict, Battleaxe, her compliment of Marines replenished, had been reassigned to the Republic armada that guarded the strategic Core Worlds system and its vitally-important shipyards. “Yes, ma'am,” the other woman began. “Are there any special orders regarding the treatment of civilians and prisoners?” “I'm glad you asked,” Laera acknowledged. “So far, the Sith forces that we and our friends in the Army have encountered do not demonstrate a propensity for surrender—not unlike the Mandalorians. That said, any live enemy soldiers we do manage to find who are not actively hostile should be detained if possible; they could prove to be an aurodium mine for the Intelligence people. As for civilians, I'm hoping to avoid contact altogether, but if there is, we do not fire unless fired upon. Is that clear?” There were several murmurs of ascent as Laera touched the holodisplay controls, and the star map faded as the room's glowpanels turned back on. “If there is nothing else, I've got some last-minute reminders to give out. The Stalwart Defender is now under communications lockdown, along with the task force's Hammerhead cruisers Horseshoe, Endar Spire, and Delta Dagger. The Aurek fighters of the 52nd Navy and 23rd Marine Squadrons will be hyping in on another location, in order to conduct their own operation, and should return soon enough to support our attack, the goal being to draw resources away from our target. I don't expect that to happen, but every bit helps. Until we have a strike package, you're all dismissed.” To Laera's surprise, no one moved. She crossed her arms, and allowed a scowl to bloom as she regarded her subordinates with a gimlet-eyed stare. “All right, what's the big idea?” she asked finally. Bimm, a childish grin blossoming on his dark face, broke the silence. “It's just...your toy. We have to see it in action...” Laera was not amused—well, maybe a little—but she knew that, sometimes, allowing such shenanigans was a good release. With all that was going on, she knew that the men and women under her command needed to vent their spleens. “Mr. Bimm, this is most definitely not a toy,” Laera said as she touched the lightsaber hanging from her belt. “It is a tool, a weapon, and a companion. Maybe someday, when you're not clowning around, I'll tell you how I—sithspawn!” A dozen hands moved as one, launching small pebbles in a veritable deluge of stone. Through the Force, Laera realized their intent just before they acted, and in a split second decided that this, if nothing else, would be that pressure valve she'd been hoping for. With her awareness exploding around her, she snatched her lightsaber from its hook and, in one fluid motion, had it activated and in guard position. She picked off the hurled pebbles with practiced ease, each stone vaporizing as it impacted on the cerulean blade of her weapon. Her Soresu cadence made her blade appear to be a solid circle of light as the volley increased; the rest of the officers had joined in the fun. Finally, after several minutes of reckless abandon, her attackers ran out of ammunition. Laera, however, hadn't even broken a sweat. “Well, boys and girls,” she continued, her tone making it clear that playtime was over, “now that you've had your fun, we can get back to business. Are you suitably impressed, Mr. Bimm?” “Yes ma'am!” he replied, getting up and snapping off his best salute, which was saying something considering the sloppiness with which he usually greeted his superiors and subordinates. “Then get the kriff out of my briefing room!” Laera bellowed in mock indignation. “You've got training to conduct, and if I don't see you all working just as hard as your people, you'll be wishing that the Mandalorians had conquered the galaxy!”
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